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Finally, I find one. A picture of her and Dad on the beach, a few Memorial Days ago. The sky’s a brilliant shade of blue, and they look so damn happy, his arm slung around her shoulders. She’s not looking at the camera. Instead, she’s gazing up at him with a smile bright as the Florida sun.
A deep ache throbs in my chest as I hold the photo out to her.
“Wow. She’s stunning.”
“She was, yeah. That’s my dad. They were college sweethearts.”
I study Lacey’s face—the straight line of her nose, the curve of her lips, the high cheekbones. She definitely bears a strong resemblance to our family, especially our mom. Her coloring is a little different, less fair, and she has darker hair than Poppy or Parker, but lighter than me and Rome. But in a lineup, you could tell we’re related.
It’s a weird feeling, staring at a stranger who looks so much like you.
“Have you always lived in Peachtree Grove?” I ask.
She nods. “Yep. Far as I knew, I was born and raised here. My parents had baby photos of me in our house. I just assumed I was from here. Until I found the birth certificate last year. They always told me I was adopted but never went into any of the details. And I never asked because it was a, um, delicate subject.”
I clear my throat, the question burning in my brain. I open my mouth to ask, but no sound comes out. Swallowing hard over the gigantic lump, I try again.
“Any idea who your birth dad was?”
26
KING
“Nope. Not a clue. The only name listed on the birth certificate is your mother.”
“Really? That’s odd.” Juliet takes a bite of pancake and chews, her jaw moving up and down slowly. “Seems like they’d list the father too.”
“Not if he wasn’t there and your mom didn’t give his name,” Liam says, stabbing with his straw at the ice cubes in his glass.
Great. Another dead end.
“I can maybe petition the court and get the record unsealed. But thought I’d start with the easy path first.” Lacey fingers her silver chain, biting down on her lip.
An awkward silence falls over the table, and Juliet’s fork scraping against the plate is suddenly deafening. I take another sip of coffee, shift in the booth. I’m stiff from the bed at the Grove, and I want to be back home. Not sitting in a sticky seat at a diner, shooting the shit with a long-lost relative.
“What was she like?” Lacey’s soft voice cuts through the quiet, and my heart squeezes.
How can I sum up my mom in one or two sentences?
I stare at the dark liquid in the mug, trying to figure what to say.
Finally, I lift my head and meet her gaze.
“She was the best person I know. She loved with all her heart. Had the most infectious laugh. Was the life of every party. My sister Poppy’s a lot like her.”
Lacey sighs, sadness flashing in her bright-blue eyes.
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She was.”
Juliet squeezes my leg under the table, and I fight hard against the wave of grief threatening to engulf me.
I’m glad Juliet got to meet my mom.
“Here’s your check, kids.” Milly plops the paper slip on the table in a metal basket. “Stay as long as you like.”
“Thanks.” I grab the basket, pop my credit card in, and hand it right back to her. She pivots on her heel and goes to run the card.
